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“Who’s your friend, Nathaniel?” one blonde drawls, biting on her lower lip.
Another one—dark haired—throws her leg over the top of the covers and crooks her finger in a silent invitation.
It should do something for me. Another time, it might have. She’s pretty enough.
As things stand, I just want this mess over with.
They know who I am, of course. Any gold digger attempting to get their claws into Nathaniel Carmichael would have considered me, too.
“Not interested.” I kick Nate’s foot. “Really? A fucking selfie?”
He groans, lifting his head off his pillow. “What?”
“You know I don’t have fucking time to babysit all of you, Carmichael. What were you thinking, taking selfies naked in bed with a bunch of sluts?”
I’m baffled. Nate’s one of the smarter guys I know, and he’s rarely caused me any trouble.
“Hey!” The blonde’s not so fond of me now.
“And,” I continue ranting at Nate, ignoring the flock of hens, “you sure as fuck don’t post them online.”
“Why do you fucking care, Hunt?” He sits up and grunts. “What I do is none of your business.”
Why do people say that? Clearly, their actions affect me, or I wouldn’t be there bitching about it.
If I were a better friend, I would try to ask what bug crawled up his ass, but I’m too irritated to play nice. Here I am, wasting my time in Thorn Falls when there’s a bombshell leaving pics in my inbox two hours away.
Still, Nate isn’t Aryan. Stupid stunts like this isn’t like him. Something happened to make him throw caution to the wind.
“It’s my business when the board demands I deal with it at three in the morning.” It took me two hours to drive back home, so it’s closer to five now.
Not that the time matters much. I haven’t had a full night for as long as I can remember. I function just fine in the middle of the night. I’m only irritated because I’m no longer in LA.
I have a surprise for Morgan, and I can’t wait to give it to her.
I noticed how she kept rubbing her feet at lunch time. She’s spending too much time running around fetching coffee orders to wear cheap sneakers. If she isn’t dropping the job, I want her in better shoes, today.
What I don’t want is to babysit a grown-ass adult, but here I am.
“I didn’t take a selfie.”
“Well, one of your charming selection of companions did, and tagged you in it. Your dad’s company’s going public, Nate. Do you know what this could do to the share price?”
“Oh, yes, my dad and his company. That’s so important, right?”
I don’t fucking have time for this.
“You, you, you, you,” I point to the girls one by one. “Phones, right now.”
“Who do you think you are?” a brunette spits.
“Your paycheck.” I pull a roll of cash out of my back pocket and lift it to eye level, so they all see it. “Phones right now, unlocked. Or I’ll stop playing nice.”
The selfie was erased from social media of course, but I want to make sure that’s the only thing they recorded.
The girls mutter curses, but they’re smart enough to retrieve their phones and hand them to me. I give the wad of cash to the closest one, a black beauty with tits the size of melons.
Running through the photos of the previous evening on all of their devices, I erase anything compromising—which is a lot. Then, I deal with the backup, and the backup of the backup. Phones are annoying these days, determined to keep shit even after you purposely delete it.
